My Lost Luna is the Secret Heiress

Chapter 2

(Selena's POV)

The next morning, the elevator doors open on the twenty-second floor. I straighten my spine before I even step out. Whatever happened in that hallway last night stays in that hallway. Nobody here gets to see the cracks.

"Selena! You're back!"

Amy's already out of her chair, coming around the reception desk with her arms half open like she's not sure if a hug is appropriate before nine in the morning. I let her hug me anyway. It's warm, uncomplicated, the kind of welcome I haven't gotten from my own husband in longer than I can remember.

"How was Milan?" someone calls from the break room. "Did you bring snacks?"

"Cold. And yes." I hold up the bag of chocolate I grabbed at the airport, and there's a small cheer, and for a moment — just a moment — I let myself enjoy being someone people are happy to see.

It doesn't last long. Nothing good ever does, lately.

By the time I reach my office, my arms are tired from carrying my bag and my coffee and the weight of a conversation I overheard nine hours ago that I still haven't figured out how to carry.

I set everything down. I sit. I open my laptop like today is a normal day, because that's the only way I know how to survive it.

Then my phone buzzes with a notification, and I make the mistake of looking.

Liam made a post twenty minutes ago. Cobb at the airport, one arm slung easy around Giselle's shoulders, her head tipped toward him like it belongs there. The caption says look who's home with three fire emojis, like it's something worth celebrating.

I stare at it longer than I should. Long enough to notice the little details I wish I hadn't — the way his hand rests low on her back, comfortable, familiar. The way she's laughing at something he said, head thrown back, careless and bright.

I used to laugh like that around him. Before I learned to measure every word.

My chest does that slow, twisting ache, like a bruise someone keeps pressing on purpose. I close the app. I close my eyes. Bonnie paces somewhere low in my ribs, restless, unhappy, wanting to do something my human side won't let her do.

I don't get long to sit with it. My phone rings, and a name I didn't expect lights up the screen. Something in me loosens just slightly at the sight of it.

"Hey," I answer, and I hear how tired my own voice sounds.

"Hey yourself." There's a smile in his voice, easy and warm, nothing like the careful tone I've had to learn with Cobb. "Your father called me this morning. Practically bragging."

Despite everything, the corner of my mouth lifts. "Did he."

"He did." A pause, and when Asher speaks again there's something more serious underneath the warmth. "Selena. I'm glad you decided to give me a chance. When do you think you'll be able to leave him?"

I look out my window at the skyline, glass towers catching the gray morning light, and I think about how easy the answer should be. I already told my father yes. I already threw a resignation letter's worth of decision into the air last night when I let that gift bag drop on the sidewalk.

But knowing something and being ready to do it out loud are different matters entirely.

"Soon," I say. "I just — I need a little time to do it right."

Asher doesn't push, which is one of the thousand things I've always liked about him growing up. "Take the time you need," he says. "I'm not going anywhere."

We talk a few minutes more — nothing important, just the sound of someone being glad to hear my voice — and when I hang up, the office feels a little less cold.

I turn my chair toward the window and look out over the city.

I think about the version of me that used to stay until midnight combing through vendor contracts so Cobb's mornings would be easier. The version that flew to four countries in weeks so his company could close deals he didn't have time to close himself. The version that told herself, every single time, this is the trip that will make him see me.

It never did. Nothing ever did.

Three years, and I don't think he ever really saw me at all. He saw someone useful. Someone who looked enough like the woman he actually wanted. A substitute. That was all I ever was.

My throat goes tight and I press my palm flat against my sternum, like I can hold the feeling in by force. Bonnie whines, low and unhappy, wanting me to stop picking at the wound.

Enough, She tells me. Enough is enough. No more whining over that jerk.

Yes, I agree, it's time to make him pay for the pain he caused us.

My phone rings again before I've even caught my breath, and this time it's his name on the screen. Cobb.

I almost don't answer. My thumb hovers over the red button for one long second, and then something stubborn in me decides I'd rather hear whatever he has to say than wonder about it all day.

"Hello."

"You're back." Not a question. Just a fact, stated flat, like he's confirming something on a checklist. No how was your trip. No I missed you. Just three words and the sound of him doing something else while he says them — typing, maybe, or walking.

"I'm back," I say, and I mean for that to be the opening line of everything I've been building up to say. I mean to tell him I know. I mean to tell him about the hallway, about Jaden's question and his answer, about substitute and ruin the atmosphere and how could I let Selena stay here. I open my mouth to start it.

"You should've told me," he says, cutting straight through whatever I was about to build. "Listen — my mother's birthday is coming up next week. Make sure you get her something nice this time. Last year's gift was forgettable."

I pause, a brief second where I feel my heart stop, then smile, and say, "alright. As you wish."

"Good," he says again, and then the line goes dead.

I set the phone down on my desk, slowly, like it might shatter if I move too fast. The silence after feels heavier than the call itself.

Somewhere inside me, the part of me that spent three years hoping finally goes quiet. Not sad-quiet. Not broken-quiet. Just — done. The way a fire goes out when there's nothing left to burn.

Victoria's birthday.

I'll go. I'll smile. I'll bring a gift nice enough that even Victoria can't find fault in it.

And after the candles are blown out and the guests have gone home and Cobb has said whatever polite, empty things a son says to his mother on her birthday...

I will finally do what I should have done the moment I heard my own name called a substitute through a closed door.

I just hope Cobb and his family have what it takes to receive this gift.